Playing with Fire
by Theater Raven
Summary: After his death was not the first time she saw her brother's face. One shot.


**Playing with Fire**

He watched the candle flickering. He set down his pen, glancing over his shoulder as he heard footsteps in the nearby corridor. Dusk was falling—it was his favorite time of day, for he knew that, with dusk, sheltering night would come. He loved the night. The nighttime was his friend, his protector, the great equalizer of everything—in the milky light provided by the moon and stars, everyone and everything was washed over in a silvery, shadowy film that gave just enough light to see by but did not, as the brazenly arrogant perfectionist that was the sunlight did, glaringly sear into one's field of vision any "abnormalities" or "imperfections". The footsteps entered his chambers now and he glanced up to see his sister in the doorway.

"Oh, hello, Sybilla."

"Hello," she answered, stepping into the room to cross over to where he sat at his desk. The candle's flame seemed to grow brighter and stronger as she neared.

"So, what brings you here this fine evening?"

"I was walking down the hallway when I saw the royal physician. He asked me to come and see . . . if you needed anything."

The silver face stayed the same but he was smiling beneath it.

"Thank you, Sybilla, but I'm fine."

A gloved hand reached for hers and, without consciously planning to, she flinched back and then glanced up—for a split second, she had seen the hurt that had passed over his eyes. They sat in awkward silence a moment.

"I know you prefer not to discuss it, Baldwin . . ."

"You are correct, Sybilla," he said, turning back as though to study his work.

"Baldwin, you're losing your sight."

"Really?" he said sarcastically, "How can you tell?"

"Your nose is practically two inches from the paper."

"My nose? My nose? No, Sybilla, this isn't _my_ nose," he said, tapping the metallic replica of a nose.

Again, there was a pause.

"Baldwin . . . You amaze me. You've led our soldiers to battle, you've defeated the enemy when all odds seemed against you, you rule our kingdom in ways that I don't think I ever could, and yet . . ."

Her pause made him turn to look at her.

"What?" he asked, his voice edged with concern.

"Well, it's just . . . You've done all those incredible things and yet . . . and yet, I don't even know who you really are."

She reached for the mask and he jerked away.

"You can _never_ know!" he said, knowing exactly what she meant. For all the battles he had ever fought, all the strengthening words of encouragement he had given his men, all the mightiness that came with being a warrior king, that one gesture made him as frightened as a child.

"Baldwin, you're my brother—nothing will change that, no matter what you think of yourself."

"You needn't be concerned with me. Long ago, I came to terms with . . . this. The mask is to protect _you_, not just you, Sybilla, but all of you, all of Jerusalem."

"The illness cannot really be that horrible . . ."

"It is awful. You can never really know how horrible it is."

"Show me—you can trust me."

She reached again.

"First you shrank from my touch and now you tear at my mask!" he cried, flinching away. "You would only see what your eyes can see, nothing more. They're all blind in that way, so I made a metallic veil to protect their blindness."

Both jumped as the candle on the desk made its flame leap, giving off a slight hissing sound. They stared at it for a minute.

"Yes, they only see what their eyes can see. They don't know that this—" he gestured to the flame "—still burns in my heart. I am perfect in spirit, even if some may say I am an imperfect man."

Sybilla blushed, realizing his meaning.

"Well, of course, that's none of _my_ business, but . . . oh, if your heart is as good as that, then what you look like won't matter."

And the third attempt, as third attempts often do, succeeded, and the mask came off. He gave a cry and she stared at the sight that came before her eyes. Baldwin looked at her, afraid that he would get lost in the wide stare of her terrified gaze.

"So," he said, glancing hurtfully at her pale, frightened face, "You_ are_ just like all the rest."

He put his mask back on and the flame went out, the first streams of moonlight beginning to cascade through the windows.


End file.
